“That’ll look suspicious.”
“Because a man following me to the bathroom isn’t? Have him sit, or I’ll make a scene.”
His tight grip on the table scrunched the tablecloth. Good, he deserved the frustration.
“Stay in the restroom until I come for you.”
I leaned over the table, not too low that the loose neckline of my dress flashed the surrounding tables, but low enough that he knew I meant business.
“I won’t be your good little pooch, Renzo.” I scratched my nails down his neck. “Remember, I have claws, and they can hurt.”
His fingers wrapped around mine and squeezed. “Yes, it’s very clear you can’t learn new tricks.”
The comment took me aback, especially the way he said it, so aloof and cold. I pulled back, straightening my spine, as my entire face prickled with discomfort. He didn’t even glance at me. Not a single acknowledgment that he knew how hurtful his words were. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about me at all.
That was when it finally sank in. It had really all been in my head. The playful undertones in his letters. The caring words. The consideration. Nothing but the imagination of a lonely person wishing to be loved and cherished. How pointless. How stupid. What kind of foolish person was I to expect to be loved by the same man who’d murdered my brother?
I spun around, clutch in hand, and blinked away the swell of emotions from my eyes. He didn’t deserve my tears. He didn’t deserve anything from me anymore. I tried. I reallywanted to be with him, but I couldn’t let him just take from me either. One date was more than enough.
My first tear splashed onto my linked hands against my stomach. The second landed on my toes as I walked, one step in front of the other, toward those infamous bathrooms on the other side of the room. The conversations at different tables blurred and twined together. The smells of different sauces, braised meat, and cooked fish wafted together into an overwhelming, nauseous blend that just made it all worse.
I didn’t rush. I wouldn’t show him how much it hurt, not that it would matter to him. He probably hadn’t looked away from the Greeks since I left. Screw this, and screw him. I’d go to the bathroom to douse some water on my face, and then I'd leave. Like hell was I going to wait for him.
As I was about to pull the bathroom door open, it was shoved into me. A woman in red walked out. She didn’t give an apology or even glance back. I rubbed my ribs where the door handle had hit.
From her dress, she was part of the Dimakos table, but even from the short glimpse I got of her, I could have sworn her face was rounder, with a less pointy chin than the woman I’d spotted at their table. Strands of auburn shone off her hair from the fluorescent sconces, when I’d previously believed it was pure black. I shook the thoughts away. None of it mattered. I was never going to see her again.
I lifted my hand to grab the door handle, then stopped short of touching it. Why was I following his advice? I had no need for the bathroom. I wasn’t staying for whatever show Renzo planned to put on either. It didn’t concern me.
Without second-guessing, I headed for the kitchens, stormed past cooks and servers, ignoring a few complaints at my presence, and barged out the back door into a dimly lit alleyway.The warm summer air swarmed me. The sudden switch to street noise compared to the clamor in the kitchens was calming.
A plume of smoke drifted from an ashtray on a windowsill, with no one around. A lone piece of paper rustled and tumbled across the alley. A far-off streetlight, combined with the mounted wall light over the door, left creeping shadows in corners. I clutched my arms.
How long would it take until he realized I was gone? Would he even remember I’d been there?
To the right was a dead end. A pathway a little off-center led to a small parking lot, and to the left, I could get back to the main street. It was the easiest way out of here.
My heels clicked on the pavement, and my dress swished at my ankles. The trails of tears on my cheeks dried up.
Back on the main street, it was easy enough to hail a cab. When the cab door snapped shut behind me and all the traffic sounds faded, I sagged against the seat and pulled out my phone. No more tears fell. He wasn’t worth them.
I’ll meet you at the hotel.
I’m sorry, babe.
I didn’t answer Bee. Instead, I silenced my phone and laid my head back, watching the moon from the window.
Chapter 37
IcouldtellAinsleydidn’t appreciate the command, but this wasn’t the time to deal with her stubbornness. Everything was in place. As of fifteen minutes ago, as agreed with the owner, the entire wait and kitchen staff had left and been replaced by cleaners on my payroll. By now, all civilian tables were cleared out. Only Iannelli men covertly dined as the remaining guests.
I checked my watch, tracking the seconds hand. Once Ainsley disappeared from view and the hand hit the twelve, my men and I were up and out of our respective seats. We rushed them, converging on them in a circle, in the hopes of avoiding a shoot-out. The first five guards went down in swift coordination. A swipe of a knife. A twist of a neck. Dead. That left three more guards sitting close to the table.
A woman screamed. I looked up, expecting Ainsley. Instead, it was a woman in red, three tables away, hands cupping her mouth, half folded in on herself. I frowned. So much for Michaela Giambrone-Dimakos’ fearsome reputation with a gun. One moment, she was screeching, the next, she was running, and then her shrieks fell quiet.
“Mikki!” an unknown man at the Dimakos table yelled.
He bolted upright, his back to me, just as Julius Dimakos threw a carving knife from a nearby gueridon my way. The shouter plummeted halfway off his seat, impaled through the face. His body tumbled to the floor as another Greek collapsed against his chair, bleeding from his neck.
